Invisibility

By Nikole Donahue

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Invisibility is the easiest trick, which you can just snap your fingers and bring it into existence.

​It doesn’t take much.

​If you're touched and kissed by the sun, making you darker than a plum: Invisible.

​Still, there's a group of us today who get no love. No lust to be us.

​No, you can do it—popping on a handstand, thrust into backhand springs, front somersaults, trampolines. Applause! Applause! "Move to the front, please."

​All those with disabilities: swept up, dusted off, and placed where you can’t see. We need you to be invisible.

​A "New Rosa Parks" in the 21st century: sit in the back; let others who have no lacks come to the front.

​We have no time for you. Sit in the back, be disgruntled if you must, hum if you like—as long as you stay far enough from our sight.

​Don’t worry, we’ll pat you on your head. Give you crumbs to feed on, to let you know that you're not yet dead. You're still invisible. Just be invisible and contrite.

​Yes, we gave you rights. We needed you to be quiet, so we gave you a little so that you could be compliant. Don't come among us with your picket signs and chanting lines.

​You're the 21st-century slave. Bag up our groceries and put our grocery carts away, then go invisible because "you can't learn anyway."

​But see, I don't know about you, but I won't go silently into the night. I'm astronomical; my light shines bright.

​Disabled and all, I still stand tall. I know what's right from wrong. I'm stronger than you because I flourish through the turmoil, the injustice of it all, because I have to work harder not to be made small.

​I'm done being invisible.